


Everyone Loves James T. Kirk

by kamawe



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 10:22:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8009941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamawe/pseuds/kamawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was life without James Kirk in it?</p><p>...</p><p>A short... let's say... character study? I wrote this one to overcome my personal hell called writer's block. English isn't my native language so my sincere apologies for any stupid mistakes!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone Loves James T. Kirk

James Kirk was always a whirlwind of energy; colors often blurred as he moved along the room, the ship, the bar, from person to person. His smile was blinding, purposeful movements appeared confident. No one was able to see beyond the carefully structured mask of boldness and easy winks. He was the Captain, the Federation's Golden Boy. He was the wind no one was able to contain in the palm of their hands. Not that they didn't try.

“I drove a car off a cliff,” Jim had once told Spock. “Got out at the last second, and sometimes I'm still not sure why.”

When Spock queried as to why he would do such a foolish thing, Jim shrugged. “Because I wanted to. Because Frank was an asshole, and because the beating afterward was so worth it.”

A grin split his dry lips, and Spock felt compelled to moisten them with his. He didn't tell Jim that fear gripped his heart; the thought of what would have been if Jim had not scrambled out of the car in time nearly paralyzing Spock. He remained quiet, because they had been only three months, nine days and twelve hours into their relationship, and something (Jim would illogically call it his gut) told him that his t'hy'la would have troubles believing how deep Spock's feelings ran for him.

Jim was quick to express shallow love and gratitude; that kind you let slip through words in a trivial conversation. It proved straining for him to talk about the sort of uncontrolled love, which had the potential to break a man.

“I love you,” Jim finally told him, seven months, three days and several undetermined hours later, while Spock laid in the medical bay, healing from an attack which had occurred during their latest mission. Spock woke up in time to hear the words whispered to him on a sigh of despair, and he counted himself lucky, for he was sure Jim wouldn't release them if Spock had regained consciousness sooner. As if there was something to be afraid of, looming over that simple yet the sweetest of confessions.

Spock blinked his eyes open, and held Jim's hand firmly in his when the man tried to shy away. “I love thee,” he said in Vulcan, knowing well Jim would understand.

A heavy silence descended upon the room. But then, finally, after what felt like eternity but what was in fact only fifty-two seconds, the rare smile Spock so cherished grazed Jim's lips, and he nodded, saying _thank you_ and _I know_ with that small gesture. As if he believed Spock.

“My t'hy'la,” Spock muttered, before his mind slipped back into unconsciousness.

But sometimes, Spock felt, Jim still didn't believe him. But that was alright. If Spock were to spend each day for the rest of their lives proving Jim of his love, he would do so. The reward was more than satisfactory.

When Jim was writhing beneath him, when their fingers brushed under the table in the conference room, when their minds melded and Jim's was like a beacon in the world of darkness. Jim was strong but fragile, self-assured but in many ways insecure, not giving shit (as he so charmingly expressed on many occasions) but seeking appreciation and recognition from those closest to him.

“If you ever hurt him, I will kill you. And don't you think that I won't be able too,” Dr. McCoy had said to him. Spock had raised an eyebrow at the sudden threat, but he'd acknowledged it nonetheless.

Dr. McCoy and Jim shared a unique friendship, which Spock had taken a long time to appreciate. 'Bones' knew of Jim's fears and secrets. 'Bones' knew of his dreams. Sometimes, it seemed, that the good doctor knew the whole of Jim. It took fifty-four hours in total of meditation for Spock to realize that Jim had entrusted him with secrets that had never reached Dr. McCoy's too-round ears.

(Someone might have argued that Jim's ears were the same round shape, but for an unresolved reason, Spock found them more pleasant to the eye.

“And you call us illogical,” Jim had chuckled.)

Spock had never thought of himself as possessive (such desire was ridiculous to his Vulcan heritage), yet gradually he had to admit there was no other name for the drop of pleasure trickling down his spine whenever someone proved they didn't know Jim as well as Spock did, or the scorching heat of blood boiling in his veins when someone made a pass on Jim taking no for an answer.

On the evening of their tenth month, thirteenth day and fifth hour together, Spock confronted an Andorian male who, after having been already rejected twice in discretion during a diplomatic dinner, insisted on following Jim's every step and going as far as trying to initiate a skin contact with him. Spock had broken the male's arm in three places.

He felt ashamed under Jim's hard glare, but he also caught the soft glow of a hesitant excitement pouring through their shared bond, born out of the realization that someone was willing to support Jim and protect him. That frail emotion was like a drug to Spock.

“I had it under control, Spock. You didn't really need to–”

“I know.”

“But–”

“My Vulcan side felt compelled to lay claim to my chosen mate.”

“...Um.”

Spock had become many things that he hadn't been before his first meeting with Jim; possessive was merely the tip of the Hobgoblin Iceberg, as Dr. McCoy had irritatingly called it.

“You're one protective bastard, Spock, maybe worse than Jimmy, and that's saying something. You two deserve each other.”

Possessive. Protective. But Spock had made peace with that. He'd never felt such a connection, such a deep amount of love that he believed would one day become his undoing. And he didn't care. As long as Jim would look at him with laughing blue eyes, as long as he would lower them in unexpected shyness every time Spock called him _ashayam_. Spock didn't care.

“Why the fuck would you be so stupid!” Jim yelled at him, two months, twenty-one days and eleven hours prior to their third year anniversary.

Spock had offered himself in exchange for Jim's life, when the Captain had been taken captive. He had accepted his fate, and the only regret he'd felt while walking toward certain death was not being able to spend one more night with Jim in his arms.

Spock blinked. “I don't understand. Would you have not done the same were our roles reversed?” What was life without James Kirk in it? Was it not obvious that James Kirk needed to live? He didn't ask these questions. Surely not even Jim himself would be able to answer them.

“That's not the same!” 

Spock stepped closer to his captain, his friend, his lover, and grasped Jim's nervous hand which was running through blond hair. “That's where you are mistaken, ashayam.” 

Jim's eyes, wide and blue as sapphires, stared at him like he held the answer to the world.

“You are mistaken, but don't fear,” Spock whispered. He raised his free hand, thumb gently caressing Jim's cheek. “One day I will make you believe.”


End file.
